


Little Things

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ficlet, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Oral Fixation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock sort of gets a kind of medical examination in which Dr. McCoy is mildly evil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alvina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alvina/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for anon's "Where Spock orgasms after oral stimulation of his hands." prompt on the [ST:ID Kink Meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=1513236#t1513236).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Spock tells himself he isn’t going to submit to this. It’s not about pride or the insult to his intelligence; it’s about not having to see the smug look on Dr. McCoy’s face. He doesn’t care what Dr. McCoy says; oral stimulation of one’s hands is _not_ a proper medical way to test their functionality. And yet, Spock sits there, enduring the humiliating ‘examination,’ with his right hand held up in the Vulcan salute. 

They’re locked away in the doctor’s office, and Dr. McCoy has his mouth hovering over Spock’s hand, tongue sliding down the length of his middle finger. Spock instantly tries to suppress his shiver, although he knows that Dr. McCoy is very observant, and he might not have been entirely successful. The tongue dips into the curve of his hand, then slides up his other finger, tracing out the ‘V.’ It runs over the tips, the tiny bumps raking over Spock’s skin, a few stray beads of moisture trickling into the groove of his fingernail. That wicked tongue traces down the other side of his pinky, painfully slowly, and presses into the dip of his hand. Then Dr. McCoy is sliding his lips down Spock’s palm, full and plush. Dr. McCoy’s tongue, so very _warm_ and _wet_ , trails up his lifeline. 

Spock wants to use his other hand to cover his mouth but doesn’t dare move. He notices his eyelids getting heavy and forces them open, trying not to stare too hard at Dr. McCoy’s mouth stretched obscenely around his skin, lips pink and wet from their work. Dr. McCoy alternates between sporting half-lidded, hazy eyes and a hard stare straight up at Spock’s face. Spock refuses to let his cheeks turn green. 

Dr. McCoy’s tongue flattens out near the bottom of Spock’s wrist, then licks all the way up, bottom lip catching on the still-dry skin, chaffing slightly and leaving a tingly, slick sensation. Wide and heavy, Dr. McCoy’s tongue reaches Spock’s fingers and wriggles into the grooves between, lapping at them before paying extra attention to the second and third finger, prying them apart again. Back to the salute. Dr. McCoy’s long, calloused fingers gently turn Spock’s hand around, and that tongue begins to travel down the back, climbing up again to suck gently on each one of Spock’s knuckles. Spock has to fight not to let his fingers flex. 

His pants are getting tight. This is horrible. He doesn’t react. He won’t react. Dr. McCoy kisses the back of his hand like a medieval Earth prince to a princess, and the imagery makes Spock want to squirm. He can feel the cavern of Dr. McCoy’s mouth over all of his bones, over the sinewy muscles between and the thin skin on top. Dr. McCoy twists his tongue up and carries it over all four knuckles in a long line, and then he’s licking up the crease of Spock’s third finger and pinky, held tightly together. 

Dr. McCoy’s mouth opens again at the top, and Spock starts repeating, ‘no’ in his head like a terrible mantra. If Dr. McCoy does that, he’ll... he’ll...

Spock barely manages to stifle the moan in time as Dr. McCoy’s mouth slides down his two fingers, hot and wet and tight around him. Those sinful lips close to trace torturously over Spock’s skin, slick over each bump and indent, all the way down to the base. Inside Dr. McCoy’s mouth, his tongue splays over Spock’s fingers, rubbing them hard and keeping them pressed together, mapping every little detail. Then Dr. McCoy _sucks_ , and a shiver runs down Spock’s whole body, hips twitching. He can feel his cock filling inside his pants. This is _so_ inappropriate. It’s not how medical examinations are supposed to go. He should leave. He should rip his hand out of Dr. McCoy’s perfect mouth and storm for the door, be he can’t, not with the wonderful suction and the tight heat and the sensual play of a talented tongue around his sensitive digits. He’s never going to look at that mouth the same way again. 

Dr. McCoy starts to bob up and down on Spock’s fingers, mouth sliding up to the tips and back down again, sucking on and off the whole time, tongue continuously going. Spock’s almost painfully hard. He bites his cheek to keep himself quiet. He should stop. This is ridiculous. He’s a Vulcan, he doesn’t—“ _Ahhh-uuhhhnnnnn..._ ”

Dr. McCoy’s eyes flicker up to him, and Spock wants to snarl at Dr. McCoy to shut up, but that would mean opening his mouth again and making another shameful sound. So he’s quiet, still, squirming in his seat and trying not to stare at Dr. McCoy’s flushed and insanely handsome face. 

Dr. McCoy pops off his fingers with a sick, wet noise, only to give the same treatment to his index and middle finger, sliding right down. These ones are longer, bigger, and Dr. McCoy doesn’t move his head this time; he holds onto Spock’s wrist and pistons Spock’s hand up, forcing Spock’s fingers to fuck Dr. McCoy’s mouth. Spock’s shivering with need now, desperate for release, and soon he’s moving his hand on his own, twisting and pivoting to feel every bit he can. He wants his fingers to touch everything, wants to feel everything, wants to be sucked and licked and caressed until he’s heady and mindless. 

Then Dr. McCoy grabs his wrist in a bruising grip, and he pulls off, pushing all four fingers and Spock’s thumb tight together. Spock makes a keening sound, feeling small and pathetic and so horny it hurts. Dr. McCoy lowers back over, not quite able to take Spock’s whole fist, but able to lick and suck the tips of all his fingers. Spock’s head falls back. His hips are humping the air. His head rolls forward again; he needs to stare at this. His fingers tap the back of Dr. McCoy’s throat, and Dr. McCoy makes a gagging sound, and somehow, that’s what does it. 

Spock comes right in his pants, with a loud, humiliating moan and burning cheeks, shoulders hunching and head hanging and thighs rubbing together. His hand stays in Dr. McCoy’s mouth, the other gripping the table hard. Spock’s sure he’s green right to the tips of his ears. But his cock still spasms and paints the front of his underwear, a wet patch creeping across his dark pants. He can smell his release in the air. It wasn’t even a small load; it was a full, pent up, amazing orgasm. 

He can’t bring himself to look up. Dr. McCoy finally lets his fingers go, snickering, “Well, hobgoblin, looks like all your body parts are working perfectly.” He gives Spock’s crotch an affectionate pat. 

Spock forces himself to look up and ask as levelly as possible, “May I go now?”

Lifting his eyebrows, Dr. McCoy asks, “You don’t want the encore?” And he glances down, forcing Spock to follow the movement. And stiffen. There’s a bulge in the front of Dr. McCoy’s pants. It seems... cruel to not return the favour. 

But Spock’s feeling slightly spiteful and a bit confused, and he prefers to not be feeling anything so unproductive at all. So he chokes out, “Perhaps at a later time,” and slips off the medical table, hurrying for the door. 

And he grabs a PADD off the table on his way out, determined to hold it over his crotch all the way back to his quarters.


End file.
